


The Magnificent McCarty

by hell_nos_and_headphones



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013), Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, F/M, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, The Great Gatsby References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell_nos_and_headphones/pseuds/hell_nos_and_headphones
Summary: In the summer of 1922, recently graduated Jasper Hale reconnects with his cousin Rosalie. He meets her husband, Royce King, her friend Mary Alice Brandon, and eventually his own mysterious neighbor, Emmett McCarty.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Rosalie Hale/Royce King
Kudos: 12





	The Magnificent McCarty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first ever fic on here. I hope you like it! I'll probably be editing it along the way.

It had been years since I had last seen Rosalie. For the last 5 years, I had been fighting in the war, or attending Yale. I had not even the time to congratulate her on her marriage 2 years ago. But after graduating two months ago, I had made the resolve to reconnect with my dear cousin Rose.

_Perhaps it was for the best, though_ , I mused aimlessly as I rotated to check my reflection in the mirror. I had donned an expensive, if not rather typical, pinstripe suit for the occasion. Rosalie surely would have been disapproving if she had known how and when I’d entered the army. Rose and I had been quite close when we were younger, up until our teen years. We were seen together so often that people often mistook for brother and sister, even twins, and at times it felt like we were. But as we grew older, I could sense her worry about the impending war and knew she would have been upset to know that I had served much earlier than I’d told her.

In summer of 1917, when America had entered the Great War, I’d barely been 17 myself. Though I was quite tall for my age, I certainly did not look 21, which was the minimum age required for soldiers. But I could be quite persuasive when I wanted to be. I knew the soldiers at the station were tired and nigh desperate for anyone to voluntarily enter the war. I could tell that they did not quite believe me when I handed them the forged birth certificate, but they wanted to believe me and so they did. I could tell when they asked me questions what answers they were looking for, and I could tell that by their body language they were satisfied, even impressed by my responses, though they tried to conceal it. Reading people’s emotions has always been a talent of mine. I knew they would let me serve.

And so I did. And in that time, I went from a string bean to a filled out young man, perhaps then convincing my superiors that I really was legal to serve. In that time I also went from a private to a major, the youngest one in America ever. Of course, it was only about 18 months later that the war ended, and I chose to continue my education at Yale. And in that time, I hadn’t seen Rosalie.

But that was about to change. For the first time in 5 years, I was going to visit Rosalie and her husband Royce over in East Egg, a much more fashionable place than my place in West Egg. Both Rosalie and I might have come from money, but she had also married into it- from what I’d heard, Royce was heir to one of the richest men in America. A little nervously, I smoothed my suit down before remembering Rosalie wouldn’t care about such trivial things. She would just be happy to see me.

The mansion was intimidatingly huge, and unfamiliar. Surprisingly though, when the door flung open and I came face to face with him, Royce King was not.

Upon first glance I saw he was strong and tall (though not as tall as I was), perhaps enough to intimidate a younger me. But I had developed a quiet, unshakeable level of self-confidence since the war and I was no longer easily unnerved by others. However, any remaining nervousness slipped away when I also realized I vaguely recognized Rosalie’s husband.

“Jas? Jasper Hale?” Royce King’s face broke out into a handsome smile. “I didn’t know you were the Jasper that Rose kept mentioning. Welcome, please come in!”

“Royce King?” I said incredulously, as I stepped inside. The butler closed the door behind us and Royce held out his hand. I took it and shook his hand firmly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I didn’t realize old Roy had married my dear cousin.”

Royce- or rather Roy, as I had known him- put his hand on my back genially as he led me down the long hallway. “I can’t believe it. How have you been, Jas? You’ll have to catch me up on everything at dinner.”

“Of course. But how about you and Rose? I’m very sorry I couldn’t attend the wedding…” I trailed off, but Royce waved his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. Me and Rose have been great- married life is berries. You know, Rose has been dying to see you,” he added. “It’s all she’s been talking about all week! She’ll be awfully happy to see you.”

I didn’t fully believe his words. Something wasn’t quite right in his face and tone when he spoke of his marriage, but I decided to let it go. It was hardly my place to judge their relationship when I knew almost nothing of it. And Roy was eager to show me around, anyways.

He led me down a long hallway, filled with black-and-white photographs. “Look here, Jas- this was when I won the polo competition back in ’20-” he pointed to a framed photograph on the left- “you remember, you were there, weren’t you?”

“I believe I was.”

“And of course, the day I took over the company- here’s my old man, right next to me, see him there-” Roy exclaimed, pointing out himself proudly. In the photograph, he was solemnly shaking hands in front of a building with an older man who resembled him greatly. The rest of the hallway proudly showed his sporting trophies, in front of his other photos of sporting events, or deals with important businessmen.

“Of course, I’ll have to introduce to Dr. Mason, he’s the best doctor on this side of the bay, and only he can-”

Roy’s monologue was interrupted as a butler opened the door for us at the end of the hall, and there I saw them.

Two women sat on the couches of the veranda, giggling to themselves. On the left was my dear, beautiful Rosalie. She was in a white dress, and her golden hair, similar in color to mine, was pulled away from her face, but still long. I smiled to myself; of course her hair was still long, she had prided it so much when she was younger. Her hair cascaded down one side of her face in a waterfall of curls, and her eyes were an even brighter blue than I remembered. But her smile remained unchanged.

“Jasper!” she gasped, and and smiled widely as she rushed in to hug me. I laughed and caught her in my arms. I wasn’t typically fond of physical touch, but for Rose I’d make an exception. “Oh, it has been far too long since I saw you last!”

“Of course, I missed you too, Rose.” I hugged her for a good few seconds before she let me go, and looked me up and down with a fond smile.

“And look how tall you’ve gotten! My, I remember when you had to crane your neck to look up at me.”

“You must have a very good memory because that was over ten years ago,” I teased, chuckling quietly.

“Do they miss me in Louisville?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Of course they do, Rose; at least a dozen people send their love.”

“Oh dear, where are my manners?” She turned around a little to incline towards the other young woman, still sitting on the couch. “Jasper, this is my friend, Mary Alice Brandon. Perhaps you’ve heard of her, she’s quite famous these days.”

“Oh please, Rosalie,” the woman laughed lightly. “I’m hardly famous.”

Mary Alice Brandon was the first person I hadn’t recognized yet. Quite unlike Rosalie, she did sport a common short hair style, a dark sleek bob. She wore a white day dress, similar to the one Rosalie was wearing, and heels as well. But when she stood to greet me, she hardly reached my shoulder.

“Miss Brandon, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I said politely, as she slipped her small hand into mine. “I’m Rosalie’s cousin, Jasper Hale.”

Miss Brandon laughed again. “Rosy was right. You are a gentleman.” I’d never heard anyone call Rosalie _Rosy_ since she was a kid- she’d stop allowing it after the age of 12. Rosalie didn’t seem to mind, however. “But you can just call me Alice,” Miss Brandon said cheerfully, taking a seat next to Rosalie once more. Her dark eyes looked me up and down unabashedly- I realized a second later that it was curiosity in her gaze.

“Jasper, I haven’t heard from you in ages,” Rosalie said, gaining my attention again. I sat down in an armchair across from her. “You simply must tell me everything- how was Yale? You just graduated, right? Do you have a girl? Where are you working now?” She leaned forward in anticipation.

“I can hardly answer all those questions at once, or I won’t be able to breath.”

Rosalie huffed, impatient. “Well, do you have a girl?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

“Perfect!” Rose smiled mischievously. “This summer I’ll fling you two together, I’ll push you into linen closets, and out to sea in boats!”

I felt my face grow hot a little at her meaning, but Miss Brandon only laughed. “I’m not listening to a word you say, Rosy.”

Before I could assure Rosalie there was no need to pair me off with any of her other friends, a butler entered to announce that dinner was served.

Dinner began in an innocent enough fashion. I learned from Rosalie that Miss Brandon was famous because she was a semi-professional golf player.

“Oh yes, I do believe I’ve seen you on the cover of Sporting Life,” I recalled suddenly. Rosalie’s friend wasn’t as unfamiliar as I’d thought, surprisingly. Miss Brandon simply smiled at me and took a sip from her wineglass.

Rosalie proudly recounted her wedding day to me- 2 years ago last May- and showed me a small black-and-white photograph.

“I had roses in my hands, of course, and violets in my hair as well- Royce always did say my eyes looked like violets,” she said, with a starry smile when she looked towards her husband. In the photo, my cousin was wearing a white, silk dress with a tulle skirt beneath the loose waistline, with silk roses at the knee. She wore a string of pearls around her neck, and long white gloves, holding a bouquet of roses. Under her pearl-lined veil, I could barely see the violets in her curled hair. Roy stood behind her in a dark suit, unsmiling. Part of me sensed his hands on her shoulders must have been holding Rosalie in a death grip, like she might flee. But Rosalie was smiling brightly in the photograph, radiant as ever.

“But enough about me, tell me about you, Jas,” Rose insisted. “What are you doing these days?”

I cleared my throat, feeling a little awkward. I didn’t like talking about myself, and I usually didn’t have to. “Well, I just graduated from Yale last May, so I’m not working yet. I studied economics, so I’m hoping to pick up a job at Wall Street soon enough.”

“Economics?” Roy asked, from the head of the table. His glance was not focused on me, but rather his steak on his plate as he ate. “Whatever happened to polo?”

Roy was a few years older than me, but we had played together on the Yale polo for about a year, when I was a freshman. We weren’t close, but even then I knew he was one of the best in the country at the time.

“Oh, it’s a wonderful sport, but I’m afraid I couldn’t make a career out of it. Not like you could, Roy,” I added, with a polite smile.

Roy grunted, but he looked pleased with the compliment. “Well tell me, what will you do on Wall Street then? Stocks, bonds…” He gesticulated with his hands in a questioning manner, one still holding his fork spearing a bite of steak, as he waited for me to answer or correct him.

“Credits, banking, investments too. If I’m lucky, it will pay well, but I’ve got to spend all summer studying up,” I said, feeling more at ease over a topic I knew well. “Of course, any man on Wall Street will tell you that it’s not what you know, but who you know, and how you approach people that matters. It’s crucial to appeal to clients and investors.”

Knowing what people wanted was the easy part for me. I could become anything, be anything they wanted me to be- I could make them trust me easily. Rose had once said when we were much younger that I “make people feel comfortable, like they can open up to you.” I didn’t like to think of it as manipulation, but I suppose manipulation by any other name would smell as sweet. It certainly would be an asset in my future career.

“Is that why you sound like a Yankee now?” Rose teased merrily. “You lost that lovely Louisville accent to appeal to New Yorkers?” She let a hint of her Southern drawl creep back into her voice.

“I can’t come up here and sound like a complete reuben to everyone, Rose,” I teased back.

“So Jasper, is it true you live over in West Egg now? Throwing your lot in with those social-climbing, primitive, no money types?” Roy asked, brow furrowed. He was still resolutely looking at his steak, cutting it with vigor.

I wasn’t surprised by his tactless assessment of my neighborhood. Old Roy had always been disdainful of the lower class.

“I’m afraid so,” I said with a chuckle. “My little shack is hardly better than a cardboard box at eighty a month.” Indeed, it was nothing compared to the King mansion. “But I’m content if it means I get to spend more time with my dear cousin.”

Miss Brandon spoke for the first time during dinner. “I know somebody in West Egg, though he’s certainly not a primitive, no-money type.”

“You do?” I was surprised. “I don’t know a single person that side of the bay.”

“Oh, you must know McCarty.” She turned her head and glanced at me, with an expression that held some sort of meaning I couldn’t explain. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, holding my gaze as I tried to decipher what it was, and I almost missed what Rose said next.

“McCarty? McCarty who?”

When I twisted to face her, Rosalie’s expression was a strange mixture of emotions. Immediately I could sense the atmosphere had shifted, or rather been disrupted. Roy, in the middle of eating another forkful of steak, set it down slowly, with his eyes trained on his wife. Miss Brandon leaned back into her chair, observing but unperturbed. The moment between the four of us was so thick, I longed to say something, but I was tongue-tied until-

_Brring_! The phone rang abruptly, and the short moment that seemed to stretch on for much too long was broken.

“Mr. King, it’s for you,” a butler called out, and quickly Roy stood, his face flushed oddly. “Please excuse me for a minute, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, he walked stiffly out of the room- I had the idea he was forcing himself not to sprint.

Another moment of silence passed, then Rose stood up and excused herself too, under the pretense of ironing her shoelaces. Something had passed between Rose and Roy, something that I didn’t fully understand, but Miss Brandon seemingly did.

I tried to pick up the conversation again, albeit awkwardly. “I-I have in fact heard the name ‘McCarty’… I believe he’s my neighbor, but we’ve never-”

“Shhh,” Miss Brandon whispered, gently touching my hand over the table. “I want to hear what happens.” She rose quietly and moved quietly to peer through the glass door into the next room, where Royce was picking up the phone.

So she, too, was aware that something was going on, but what was it? “What’s happening?”

“You don’t know?” She looked back at me, with an expression filled with pity. “Don’t tell Rosy I said this, but she already knows… Royce has some woman in New York. She might have the decency not to telephone during dinner time, wouldn’t you think?” She muttered, more towards herself.

“Got some woman?” Now truly concerned for my cousin, I joined her at the door. “How do you know, Miss Brandon? Did Royce tell you?”

“No, nobody told me. Royce doesn’t know that I know, and I’d never in a million years bring it up to Rosalie. Call it an… intuition.” She smiled a little, like she had an inside joke with herself. I wasn’t one for gossip, but I found myself believing her.

“Miss Brandon, who is the woman?”

“I’m not sure yet… but between you and me, whoever his woman is, is much closer to Rosy than she realizes. Oh,” she said suddenly, “and please- do call me Alice.”

Miss Brandon- Alice- flashed me a blinding smile. She had to raise her head quite a bit in order to meet my eyes. Flustered, I could only stutter out, “Y-yes ma’am.”

After dinner ended so strangely, Rosalie and I took a turn around her gardens on the balconies. She was still smiling, but now there was an underlying sadness that I understood. I wished I didn’t.

“Oh, Jasper…”

“What?” I said softly.

“Well, you see I think everything’s terrible anyway.” She smiled that sad smile that I wished even more would go away.

“Why is that, Rose?”

Rose slowed to a stop and gave me a long searching look. Perhaps she was wondering if it was worth it to open up, to make herself vulnerable to someone she hadn’t seen in half a decade. But I never felt that time had changed us too much. Inviting investors to trust me was meaningless, just business. My open invitation to Rosalie to tell me her troubled thoughts, though, would always be genuine. “You can tell me anything, Rosalie,” I told her in earnest.

She sighed. “Royce has never spared any expense on me. Ever since we’ve gotten married, he’s bought me the finest wines, the richest foods, the grandest chandeliers, the best hotel rooms. And even…” she raised her left hand in example. On her ring finger smugly sat a ring, an ornate ring with a fleur-de-lys pattern on the band and a diamond so bright, it was impossible to miss. “A beautiful manacle, isn’t it? Any other girl would die to have a handcuff like this. But it’s as if he owns me because I’m another pretty possession to look at. And it’s only made me bitter.” Rosalie said the words _manacle_ and _handcuff_ like they were literal. She clenched her left hand into a fist, but sighed again and released it. Unthinkingly, I took hold of her hand, and she squeezed my hand, and we started walking again. She seemed to understand that I was wordlessly letting her know, _I’m here. I will listen. Tell me._

“You know Jas, my best friend Vera has a toddler. An adorable little boy named Henry. She doesn’t have a grand chandelier, or fine wines, she’s just the wife of a mechanic. But every time I went to visit her, I could only drown in jealousy. He had the darkest, curliest hair I’ve ever seen on a baby, and I’d finally found the one thing I didn’t have.

“Until last year. Last year, I found out I was pregnant. Oh Jas, I was over the moon!” She smiled and clutched my hand for emphasis. “As soon the doctor told me, I started picking out baby names- perhaps Irene, or Lillian, or Florence for a girl, and of course Royce the Third for a boy… even though Royce the Second didn’t care at all.” Her voice turned hard at the mention of her husband. “He let me start building a nursery next to our bedroom, and I asked Mama to send me all of my old dolls and blankets from when I was a baby. But it was all for nothing.”

Rosalie stopped once more, and instead turned to face the Long Island Bay which her mansion overlooked. I stood by her side, but her eyes were resolutely trained on the dark waters, not looking my way. She seemed to be steeling her nerves, like it might have been very difficult for her to speak about this. She swallowed, and continued.

“I-I had a miscarriage. Four months in. Jasper… There was so much blood that it was as if I were in the war. All I could do was scream and cry. And after it was over, the doctor told me I would never be able to have children.” Rosalie’s hands gripped the railing of the balcony until her knuckles were white.

“Alice and Vera were the only ones who saw me that night, as I cried and threw up and cried again. Meanwhile, Royce was God-knows-where… with God-knows-who.” She glanced back towards the house, where Roy was still speaking in angry, hushed tones down the phone. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t listen to the sound of children’s feet running through the house. I couldn’t paint the baby’s room, I couldn’t sew any toddlers clothes or buy any toys. I could never watch my own children grow up before my very eyes. I couldn’t even have a husband who loves me.” At once, all of the breath seemed to fall from her chest, and her voice was flat. “All the bright, precious things fade so fast… and they don’t come back.”

Rosalie didn’t cry when she spoke. She spoke calmly, like she had given up, but I could feel her emotions- heartbreak, loneliness, and resentment- so strongly it was as if they were my own. Unable to speak, I pulled her into a hug, and she gladly wrapped her arms around me.

When I returned home, all I could think of was my cousin. I had felt her anguish so acutely, that it seemed to be lingering with me. She was so resigned to her unhappy way of life that I wasn’t certain she wished me to help in any way. But the evening had gone much worse than Rosalie, Roy, or Miss Brandon knew, far worse than I could have ever imagined. I saw only the remnants of the old, spirited Rose I knew. I’d never seen her so pained and so trapped before. I promised myself to keep a close eye on Rosalie from now on; if only so she would have some company while Roy… entertained himself elsewhere.

So deep in thought, I almost didn’t notice that a figure had emerged on the dock next to my place. I saw him just as I opened the door, and stepped back to observe in curiosity. I didn’t have many other neighbors, so I could only deduce that it was… the mysterious McCarty mentioned at dinner. He seemed to be reaching for something out there in the dark. I could not see the man’s face, but even from the distance, his longing was almost tangible. All I could see was the bay, and a faint green light at the end of it. What on earth could move a man so rich to want something so badly?

Before long, I would know.

**Author's Note:**

> 20's slang  
> berries- good, nice  
> manacle, handcuff- a ring  
> reuben- a redneck  
> to iron one's shoelaces- to go to the bathroom


End file.
